Ghosts Are Not Scary - A Poem by Muskan Lamba - Dive into the Depths of Contemporary Voices

Ghosts Are Not Scary – A Poem by Muskan Lamba

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I’m sorry, but, ghosts are not scary.
They live inside me. They live inside you.
And without realizing, they consume us whole
Of course, they are here to destroy
But the destruction..? It’s so silent
And silence, so to say, is never scary.
These ghosts, they are not like monsters at all
Not even close to appearing evil or disastrous.

I am sorry, but, ghosts are not scary.
Once, they forwarded me their hand
And we ended up building a friendship together.
They told me their secret
Of being disguised as self-doubt, anxiety and anger.
And I told them mine; of being vulnerable.
Wish to know their hiding spot?
It’s beneath our skins, inside our hearts.

I am sorry, but, ghosts are not scary.
I think we have developed an in-depth understanding of each other.
They told me, “We ourselves are suffering
which is why we make you suffer.”
I sympathised. I think so do you.
And us being ever-so-welcoming, we let them in.
Ghosts of me. And ghosts of you.

I am sorry, but, ghosts are not scary.
Not to me.
I’ve been acquainted with them for far too long now
They’re as much a part of me
As I am of this world.
Though just a tiny speck,
but effortlessly infinite within.

I am sorry, but, ghosts are not scary.
Once, they forwarded me their hand
And we ended up building a friendship together.
I even told them my secret of being vulnerable.
They are… not scary.
How can they be?
Yet I am afraid.

More at https://muskanlambablog.wordpress.com.

Walnuts - A Poem by G. S. Katz - Dive into the Depths of Contemporary Voices

Walnuts – A Poem by G. S. Katz

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I remember my father sitting at the kitchen table
Cracking open walnuts and eating every morsel
Dad was a good eater, chicken was his favorite
When he got done with half a chicken
It looked like a war had taken place on his plate
Bones gleaned of any meat
A spectacle to watch
We always kidded him about it
The walnuts though I never got
He drank celery tonic too
Another non-starter for this cowboy

I never felt like I knew my dad
He was always a quiet man
Gentle but firm, pragmatic as the day is long
I wanted to know him but I wasn’t allowed in
Four years behind enemy lines during WWII
maybe the cause
After he passed I found out I wasn’t the only one
to feel his silence
He was rarely mad
His favorite expression
“God forbid for worse”
He would say if we kids every complained too much

I gave the eulogy at his funeral
That’s what a son does
I was so honored to be his kid
Despite the distance between us
The love was there, my mom also telling me so

I’ve tried to make peace with walnuts
I eat them now for health reasons
I still don’t really like them
For dad’s sake though I feel him with every bite
I buy them already shelled
Dad had to do the work breaking them open himself
A decorated war veteran
It was like rolling off a log

Rolling Away the Stone - A Poem by Roy Pullam - Dive into the Depths of Contemporary Voices

Rolling Away the Stone – A Poem by Roy Pullam

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I gibraltared my opinions
Arming my personal philosophy
With the parochial views
That surrounded my youth
Passed on as a legacy
Of ignorance
Maybe through the wish
To not be different
To not voice the uncertainty
That I grudgingly felt
I accepted the doctrine
Of my religion
Doubt crept in
As I was exposed
To a broader world
Slowly without my notice
Fissures developed
I began to question
To stent
A clogged mind
Allowing reason
The blood of wisdom
To reach my gray matter
First one
Then others eroded
Until
Questioning
Left no rock
Just the clay
That crumbled
Under my feet
Some
Have the comfort
Of a closed mind
Always knowing
Where they stand
And I have my dilemmas
With seemingly few answers

Just Me and a Few Words Packed in My U-Haul - A Poem by Jacob Erin-Cilberto - Dive into the Depths of Contemporary Voices

Just Me and a Few Words Packed in My U-Haul – A Poem by Jacob Erin-Cilberto

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Sinister patches of black tar
a roadway of eternal sink holes
the wonder of future
the wonder of you

romance me away from this rock
moss is growing under my poetry
the ink in ebony dress
levity is the broken line in the middle
of the interstate,
but my state of mind never passes you

I just hang back, hang-dog expression
eclipsed vision
the sun is a fox chased by the hounds of cumulus

even the Beat poets would think their poems cheerful
compared to taxi driver poets who get jumped
in their cabs with random tips–
most saying “give up, the world has no exit ramp for this”
Robert Creeley has a patch over both eyes now,
Plath is dying to stay in the institution
even Sexton thinks she wants a two-car garage

keep your motor running people
because others are shooting off their motor mouths
and exhausting the tolls
too expensive to drive the keyboards

the wonder of future
the wonder of you
put me in a trunk with the old keepsakes
and letters from Sylvia
and the poems Sexton wrote when she was good
ask Robert to come home
even with the patches
he might be able to see
what we are missing–
Stop signs pleading
to us to put a brake to the madness.

Purpose - A Poem by Roy Pullam - Dive into the Depths of Contemporary Voices

Purpose – A Poem by Roy Pullam

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There are moments
Electric currents
That you know
Will never come again
Life changing moments
When decisions are made
Decisions of import
Demanding response
In that fraction
Of a second
That will determine
The course
Of the rest
Of your life
I have had
That crossroads moment
When every thing
Pointed me
To familiar, safe paths
But another
Overgrown with mystery
Somehow appealed to me
Harder to clear my way
Through the brambles
Across marshes
Where my hopes sunk
With every step
Streams out of their banks
Seemed impossible
To ford
But I found shallows
Where pools
Were still
Often I looked back
Questioning my choice
But there was no turning
Pride stoked the adventure
The bleed of ego
Gave me no alternative
But to continue
And now
I am here
Most days
That brings contentment
Others I wonder
Where the other road
Led

Memorial - A Poem by Roy Pullam - Dive into the Depths of Contemporary Voices

Memorial – A Poem by Roy Pullam

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He was not there
To hear voices
Praise him
He did not know
That hundreds of tongues
Would speak
Of his loss
Piling accounts
Like kindling
On a pyre
Of fellowship
The warmth
Amidst the cold finality
Each knowing
Funny stories
He told with relish
The joke
Always on him
Of visits
To the hurting
Even though
He hurt worse
Hiding the pain
As he reassured others
No one knew
The extent
Of his wounds
Each would willingly
Share his troubles
To carry his burden
As he
Had shared theirs
But he chose
The final out
A decision
We all
Have time to regret
Maybe we will learn
Listening deeper
To what they feel
And not
Just what they say

In Defense of Intellectual Labor - A Poem by Daniel Klawitter - Dive into the Depths of Contemporary Voices

In Defense of Intellectual Labor – A Poem by Daniel Klawitter

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It begins innocently enough
With a wondering.
With a however hung
On a what if.

With a maybe
Married to a possibility
Not yet exposed
Or explored.

Sure, there are answers—
Some of them are even
Convincing.

What is deplorable
Is thinking the obvious
Is obvious
Just for existing.

It requires
Some agility—
Some frisky flexibility
To not become distressed

When provoked
By a question
That turns into a quest.

More at https://poetdanielklawitter.wordpress.com.

On Quicksand - A Poem by Roy Pullam - Dive into the Depths of Contemporary Voices

On Quicksand – A Poem by Roy Pullam

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I hid
In the shadow
Of my blemished youth
Unable
To determine
What I should be
What would
Get me the acceptance
I so longed for
Bending with the wind
In order
To find my way
In the flood
Of adolescence
Seeking to defy radar
Be a ghost
That came and went
With whatever fad
It was miserable
Twisting myself
In a suit
Too small
Or one
That swallowed me
Trying to not split
The seams
Trying to hold
Up to an image
Too big
For the boy
I found myself
To be
Conscious always
That pretense could fall
And others
Would see
Who I rejected
But did not know
Maybe even now
He remains a mystery
A riddle
That has no solution

The Wife - A Poem by Richard Kalfus - Dive into the Depths of Contemporary Voices

The Wife – A Poem by Richard Kalfus

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The two of us, my co-worker and I
busy at our computers.

John took out his cell.
“Have to call THE wife, won’t take long.”
“What? “You want to call THE wife?
My surprise meant nothing to him.
At 59, he was very much “old school.”
Was he or I the fool?

My young wife had she been there,
She would have told John calmly
that using the word, THE, today,
was indeed rare,
and pejorative.

It lowered her to a “possession.”—
an object “his” property.

John was baffled,” but, but,
I love my wife…
She is my whole life.

My own wife, having recently
returned from the “Women’s March”
could have explained it all.

Would John have understood?

A Creative Explosion - A Poem by Paul Tristram - Dive into the Depths of Contemporary Voices

A Creative Explosion – A Poem by Paul Tristram

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The smell of freshly sharpened pencils
upon her slender, stained fingertips.
The taste of daisies and forget-me-nots
upon her pursed, concentrating lips.
She shudders, as her imagination
runs rampant up the throat of her soul
and bursts colourfully out of her mind
through wide, dazzling eyes.
Attacking the workbench with majestic arcs,
finger whips and thumbprint smudges.
Water is easy… it’s trickling the depth
whilst retaining the veneer that counts.
Fog… still has to be focused.
Trees… firework up out of the ground.
Hills roll or are monument.
The shadows… alive
or merely dormant, wasted spaces.
To trap ‘Energy’ within a single teardrop.
To mirror a ‘Love Sonnet’ upon the reflection
of a mischievous, half-scowling raven’s eye.
To creatively EXPLODE from the roots of the heart…
out onto the page or canvas,
is the very difference between mere pictures and Art.

More at https://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/.

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